The King's Sons
by Terion
Summary: A collection of drabbles and such leading up to the events of the Fifth Blight in an alternate universe where Maric claimed his bastard son.
1. Betrayal, 9:10 Dragon - Loghain

_He cannot possibly betray Rowan like this._

That was the thought that blazed in Loghain's mind as he took the stairs two at a time up to the floor with the royal rooms. The news of the babe's arrival in the wee hours of the night had brought him out of his bed when one of Maric's pages had come knocking at his door. Now, after a day of being fairly relaxed, he was outright furious.

From what he'd forced out of the page boy, who had been there when the babe had been brought to the King, the child was Maric's. Maric's and who's though? Had he gotten some by-blow on a random common woman? On a Bann's daughter?

Or, worse still, was it that elf Warden from that fool's escapade of his months ago?

Loghain gritted his teeth and stormed down the hall to Maric's door, slamming it open so hard it bounced off the wall. Instantly a babe's thready wail struck up and a woman with wild looking hair on the other side of the room bolted to her feet, eyes full of terror and her arms full of screaming child. Maric, standing in the middle of the room, waved her back into her seat then turned towards him.

"Whose child?" snarled Loghain.

The King just looked at him for a moment then held up a folded letter he had clasped in his right hand. "Fiona's. The Wardens apparently allowed her long enough to give birth and a week to find a wet nurse before sending him and her on a horse.

_Him_. A boy. Of course the bastard child of his - dare he still call him _friend_ - King had to be a boy.

If the Orlesians heard about this and found out that his mother was not only one of their own, a Warden, elf, and a _mage_, they'd be seeing the chevaliers at the border so quickly every head in Ferelden would spin so fast they'd fall off.

Loghain sniffed then spat viciously, "You know you have to hide him. Get him out of sight." It would be political suicide to keep the boy as well as an affront to Rowan's memory.

Then again...Maric had never cared for Rowan the way he had.

Maric looked stunned at the statement. "You can't possibly think I'll send the boy and his nurse away _again_ in the dead of night. She's exhausted and he could die on another such journey so soon."

_All for the better_, was all but on Loghain's tongue but he didn't say it. Instead he drew in a steadying breath and said, "To keep the boy means acknowledging him. It means lying successfully about his mother. It means possibly alienating the Guerrins and the whole of the bloody Bannorn, Maric!"

"You think I don't know that!" Maric finally shouted back at him, his blue eyes _furious_, and the babe started to wail again just as he'd settled down. The King flinched and looked apologetically towards the frantic woman as she hushed the child and whispered words in the heavy Anders dialect to him. Regaining control, he continued, "I know what the response will be, Loghain, but who could I trust to raise him? You?"

Loghain snorted and Maric smiled.

"Exactly. I dare say I can't trust any of the Banns to do it without raising him as a contender to Cailan."

"What of the Arls?" pressed Loghain. "What of the Couslands?"

The King shook his head and looked up towards a spot high on the wall that Loghain couldn't see from his spot by the door. He knew what was there though and he had avoided looking there since Rowan had died. Seeing her looking back at him from a painting and smiling falsely was too hard on his heart.

"Do you really think Eamon would be able to treat the boy fairly? Teagan I could trust, perhaps, but he's still young and would likely fall prey to too much advice from his brother." Maric looked at Loghain again as he added, "And the Couslands have a new baby boy to deal with according to the news coming out of Highever. I can't thrust another mouth on them."

Everything he said made sense but Loghain still did not want the boy under the roof Rowan had lived and died under. "What about Howe?"

Maric's eyes, flashing disbelief and anger, told him everything he needed to know about the response to that before the words were spoken. He had known what it would be but he had asked anyway.

"Give a child of _mine _over to Rendon Howe? I barely trust him with the children he has!"

Loghain pursed his lips then growled, "Then it seems you've already made your decision to keep the boy no matter what."

With a heavy nod, the King looked towards the painting again then at the Anders woman who had managed to finally quiet the babe once more. Then he looked down at the letter, grasping it in both hands as he breathed, "He's my _son_, Loghain."

"He's a _bastard_, Maric."

"Andraste's bloody Grace, man, it's not his fault!"

"No!" snapped Loghain, stalking forward to shove a finger in the other man's face. "It is yours and that damn Orlesian _bitch's _fault that he was born with that title. And if he lives here, I will remind him of that every day of his life, I can promise you that."

The hurt in Maric's eyes almost made him take back those words but Loghain remembered _Rowan's_ hurt and his resolve steeled. Maric might have been his friend before he was King but Rowan was the woman he'd loved, the woman his rank hadn't allowed him to have. And he hated himself every day for convincing her that she had to be Maric's queen.

Then the pain faded in the King's eyes and he said coldly, "The boy stays."

Loghain nodded curtly with a muttered, "So be it," and left, not wanting to look at the man or the woman or the bundled form of the babe any longer.

_I'm sorry, Rowan_, he thought as he angrily stormed back towards his own rooms in the Palace. _I tried._


	2. Brother, 9:10 Dragon – Cailan

"Cailan," said Father very quietly as he looked up from the chair he was seated in on the other side of the royal suite's sitting room, "come here."

Even at five year's old, Cailan had known something had happened during the night when he woke up that morning. The Palace had been in an outright uproar and he'd seen Loghain storming around the halls, looking like he should have a small thunderstorm following in his wake given his expression. So when he was ushered into Father's rooms after being dressed by Dora, he wondered if he was going to find out what was making everyone crazy.

As he moved closer to the chair, he noticed that Father was holding something. His first immediate though was a puppy but why would a mabari have the Palace so overwhelmed?

"What is it?" he asked, standing on his tiptoes in an attempt to see. When Cailan looked up and saw the strained, sad look on Father's face, he added, "Is it why everyone's gone mad?"

"He is."

Father then leaned forward and Cailan could see it was a _baby_, all wrinkly faced and pink like Arl Howe's daughter who'd been born last year. "His name is Alistair," said Father gently, "and he's your brother."

"_Mine_?" breathed Cailan in awe. It didn't fit quiet rightly in his head because Mother had died too long ago but that wasn't the important bit in his mind. He had a _brother._

Father laughed at the awe in his voice – that big, honest laugh that Cailan didn't hear so often anymore – and nodded. "Yes, yours. And do you know what that means, Cailan?" As he shook his head, Father continued, "That means you're his _big brother_. Big brother's look after their little brother's."

"'Kay," mumbled Cailan as he tried to arch even higher on his toes, reaching up to touch the baby's blanket. As Father moved him closer, the baby opened his eyes and the five year-old grinned brightly. "Hi, Alistair!" he chirped as his fingers curled into the blanket. "I'm your big brother! And I won't ever, ever let anything happen to you."


	3. Sickness, 9:15 Dragon – Cailan

His hands shaking, Cailan slowly opened the door to Alistair's room and peered inside. He jumped as the woman at his little brother's bedside looked up and then rose from her seat.

"Young Prince!" she exclaimed in her heavy Anders accent. "You know not to be here!"

"I know," he answered. "I just..." Sliding into the room and closing the door, he leaned back against it. "I just wanted to be nearby, Osanna."

Osanna sighed and pinned him with a serious look. "He will not die."

Shaking his head, Cailan stammered, "Loghain...I overheard him talking to Father. Saying children as young as Alistair so rarely survive this." He'd been going to talk to Father when he'd inadvertently eavesdropped on that conversation. It hadn't helped the already jumpy state he'd been in since Alistair had gotten really sick several days before after they'd been outside in the newly fallen snow.

Hissing something under her breath in her native tongue that didn't sound very polite, Osanna moved across the room and knelt down in front of him. As she reached up to brush back a lock of his hair, she said, "He is strong. I know, yes, I carried him here, have cared since he was small."

"But..."

"Shh," she interrupted, thin fingers folding over his lips. Cailan just stared at her for a moment then he breathed a handful of words that terrified him to the core.

"I don't want him to die."

"He will not."

"But how do you _know_?"

Osanna merely smiled as she answered, "I have already said. He is strong." She then reached for the edge of her shawl and pulled him close, drying away tears that Cailan hadn't even realized were trailing down his cheeks. "You must be strong too, young Prince."

Sniffling, Cailan shook his head and choked out, "I don't know _how_."

"Mmm. Each must find there own way but I shall share mine." Looking towards the little bed where Alistair lay, she continued, "I _know_ he will be well."

"Like...faith?"

"Akin but not. It is..." She trailed off and said something in her native language, the words flowing so quickly Cailan wasn't quite sure where each separate word began or ended. "I do not know it in this tongue. Faith but not. It is the simple knowing."

Definitely not understanding, Cailan frowned and as Osanna sighed, he mumbled, "I'm sorry."

"Shh," said Osanna as she drew him into a hug and he clung to the woman, wrapping his arms tightly around her neck. He'd always liked his brother's nurse because of her affection – his own had been kind but always aloof, keeping her distance. Osanna treated Alistair almost as if he were her own son.

It was something he'd missed, a feeling garnered from faint recollections of Mother.

After a moment, Osanna pushed him gently away then pointed to an overlarge chair on the other side of the room. Cailan smiled at the sight of it because it was his and Alistair's chair, where they'd curled up together many times and fallen asleep listening to Osanna (or Father on the rare occasion) telling one story or another. "You may sit there," she said sternly. Then she ran her fingers through his hair as she added, "We do not need you sick, young Prince."

"I'll stay there," he breathed, almost unwilling to believe he was getting to stay. Father had told him he wasn't to go to Alistair's room for fear of him getting sick but he didn't care. He just wanted to be near his little brother.

Nodding, Osanna released him, gently ruffling his hair as she rose and returned to her seat. By the time she was resettled at Alistair's side, he was curled up in the chair with his eyes on his brother's bed.

Smiling at him, the woman leaned forward to brush hair away from Alistair's face and began to sing softly in her own language. Though he didn't know the words, Cailan found a strange comfort in them and a surety that his brother would be alright. It was that alone that eventually allowed his eyes to drift shut and let him sleep.


	4. Sons, 9:15 Dragon – Maric

As he moved wearily down the hall towards Alistair's room during the final hours of the night, Maric rubbed a hand over his face. He grimaced as he felt the stubble that had grown out over the past few days as worry for his youngest son had consumed him.

Loghain's stark reminder that young children often didn't survive winter sicknesses certainly hadn't helped any.

Pushing open the door, he smiled as he caught the strains of Osanna's voice humming what sounded like an old Ferelden lullaby. He hadn't been too sure of himself two years past when he'd offered her a permanent position in the Palace as Alistair's nurse but now he was happy he'd made the decision and that she'd accepted. She was a good woman and he couldn't fault Fiona's choice.

Moving across the room, he asked quietly, "How is he?"

Quietly trailing off her humming, she answered, "The fever is gone." Leaning forward, Osanna brushed the hair back from Alistair's face and then pressed a kiss to his forehead. "He is strong, as I told the young Prince."

Maric stilled at her words. "Cailan? I told him he wasn't to come."

"He overheard harsh words," said Osanna, her voice sharp now with hard enough edges that he could hear them. "Between you and the Teryn."

Cursing under his breath, Maric lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. Of course Cailan had heard Logahin's damnable words! His eldest had been just as distraught as himself since Alistair had fallen ill and likely those words had sent him on that same careening spiral of worry. Enough worry to make him disobey and come where he'd been ordered not to go.

Knowing now that he'd come, he knew where Osanna would have pointed the boy. Turning to look across the room, Maric smiled as he saw Cailan asleep in the overlarge chair he and Alistair liked to share. It was one of the few pieces of furniture he'd kept from the Orlesian occupation of the Palace as it had been built by a Denerim carpenter attempting to impress Meghren according to one of the maids from the time. Given that the chair hadn't been of the style Orlesians seemed to prefer, it had ended up in a storage room until they had retaken the Palace.

It had been a favorite of Rowan's and she'd often read to Cailan while sitting in it with him in her lap, though he doubted his son remembered. After her death, he'd moved it from where it had been in their shared sitting room to Cailan's room. And then Cailan, at a mere five years old, had offered it up when he'd happened to overhear Maric discussing furniture for Alistair's room with his seneschal Cedric and the most senior and trusted of the maids, Margery.

"He shouldn't have heard that," he said after several moments of just standing there watching his eldest son. Looking back towards Osanna, Maric asked, "Was there trouble getting him to settle down?"

Shaking her head, she answered, "Little. He was afraid. I soothed as able."

"Thank you, Osanna."

She waved a hand almost flippantly – a motion that surely would have set a few of the nobles into a fit if they had seen it – and said, "I need no thanks." Smiling at him briefly, she then turned towards Alistair and leaned forward to run her fingers gently through his hair. "Fiona asked and I came to serve. Owed her my life and she gave a second chance."

_Second chance at caring for a child after you lost your own,_ thought Maric, remembering that detail well from the letter that had accompanied Osanna that night. That had been the reason he'd been wary of keeping her on but it was also what made her an excellent nurse to Alistair.

Moving to the other side of the little bed, he dropped to one knee as he reached out to rest his hand on Alistair's chest. He closed his eyes as he listened and felt the deep breaths his youngest was now taking instead of the shallow, ragged ones of days before. After a moment he moved his hand upwards to cup the tiny face, fingertips tracing gently across a warm cheek.

Maric met Osanna's eyes across the bed as he said, "Let me thank you for your service to her then. Without you I wouldn't have him."

She was silent for a moment then inclined her head. "That thanks I accept."

Nodding slightly, Maric then turned his attention back to Alistair and bent down to kiss his forehead. "Sleep well, son," he murmured, before he rose and crossed the room towards the chair.

Cailan moaned as he lifted him up, shifting him carefully so his eldest's head rested against his shoulder. Turning back to Osanna, he quietly ordered, "Get some sleep now that his fever's broken."

"I shall," she assured and rose as he moved towards the door, holding it open so he could keep his grip on Cailan. "Goodnight, Your Majesty."

"Goodnight, Osanna," intoned Maric with a smile before he headed down the corridor, making the turn that led to Cailan's room. Thankfully the door had been left partially open – probably when the boy had crept down to Alistair's room from his own – so he only had to nudge it aside to enter. Carefully, he laid his son down on the bed and pulled off the soft boots he wore before drawing the covers up to his chin.

Impulsively, Maric brushed the long hair back from Cailan's forehead then bent to press a kiss against it as he had done with Alistair. When he leaned back, blue eyes were blinking at him blearily.

"Father?"

"Shh," he said. "Go back to sleep, Cailan."

"Alis..."

Smiling, Maric assured, "Alistair is safe."

Cailan blinked slowly at that then nodded as he rolled over and burrowed into the blankets. As his eyes drifted shut, he breathed, "Promise?"

"I promise."

Maric smoothed the blankets over Cailan's shoulder as the boy finally dropped back into sleep then turned to leave the room, shutting the door firmly behind him. As he made his way back to his own rooms and collapsed tiredly into bed, he couldn't help but smile because both of his sons were safely ensconced in bed and all – for now – was right with the world again.


	5. Words, 9:16 Dragon – Anora

She called Alistair a Prince all of once in Father's hearing. It had been when she was much younger, just after he'd arrived at the Palace, and she hadn't known of the difference between a bastard child and a natural one. That day she had been swiftly informed of just what the distinction and it was one of the few instances where she feared Father just that tiny bit. She had never forgotten the lesson.

Years later, sitting next to Cailan on one of the benches in the Palace gardens and watching a newly six year-old Alistair, she ended up bringing up that lesson because of a comment made by the boy beside her.

"I think everyone's wrong about Alistair."

"Wrong?" questioned Anora, confused as to what he was talking about.

Frowning seriously – a look that was strange on his eleven year-old features – Cailan explained, "Father says that he can't be a Prince."

"Well he _can't_. That's just what happens with bastards."

"Adults are stupid then. So he has a different mother. We're both Father's sons!"

Sighing, Anora said firmly, "He was born out of wedlock. Imagine if you'd been born without the King being married to the Queen, Cailan. It would have been the same thing only the Landsmeet probably would have confirmed you."

"But why does it even matter!" he exclaimed, throwing up his hands.

Pursing her lips together, she summoned her father's words from years before.

"Because blood is important. And Alistair's mother was just some servant girl."

"So?" spat Cailan, turning to look at her with his blue eyes blazing. "Loghain was just a farmer before he became Father's friend and they drove out the Orlesians! Now he's a Teryn and you're a Teryn's daughter! Blood isn't important, Anora, it's just _words_!"

Turning to look at his half-brother, he continued, "Alistair's a Prince, same as me. No matter what anyone says, _I'll_ always believe that."

For a moment Anora just stared at him then slowly turned her head to also watch the younger boy where he was playing with some of Cailan's old toys. There was something in Cailan's words that rang of truth and it reminded her of one of her teacher's favorite sayings, that words were the greatest power one could harness. Words could raise King's to power or bring an entire country to it's knees.

And words, too, could raise a bastard son to a true Prince.

Suddenly Father's words seemed more than a little hollow and she found herself wondering at the motivation behind them. Surely he knew this? Father was the smartest man she knew, so surely he did.

Why then? Why tell her that Alistair could never be a Prince because of blood when it perhaps wasn't the truth?

Shaking her head, Anora reached out and covered Cailan's hand with her own where it rested between them on the bench. As he turned to look at her, she smiled and said softly, "I think what I've been told might have been wrong."

His eyes widened then he closed them as he sighed heavily. "Anora, if you're just agreeing because our fathers have this whole marriage arrangement idea between us..."

"No," she snapped, her voice stern. "I honestly think you might be right. Bastard born, natural born, they're just words. And blood..." Bowing her head, Anora continued, "If blood were really that important to titles, then Father wouldn't be a Teryn. Alistair has far more reason to be a Prince because of blood than I do being a Teryn's daughter."

Cailan just stared at her and she smiled. After a moment he shook his head and turned his hand underneath hers to squeeze her fingers.

"Thank you," he said quietly as his eyes drifted back to Alistair.

Nodding, Anora softly said, "No one else will see things like we do, though. You know that."

"I know."

They lapsed into silence after that, just watching the younger boy with their hands clasped and Anora suddenly found all of her thoughts shifting, wondering, pondering what else Father might not have had right.


	6. Lessons, 9:20 Dragon – Maric

"Aren't we supposed to be in lessons?" asked Maric in amusement as he peered up the tree in the Palace gardens at his youngest son. Alistair let out a yelp at his discovery and then looked down, smiling sheepishly.

"Ser Nicholas was asleep when I found him," answered the ten year-old, swinging his legs idly. "Didn't want to disturb him."

Maric hummed in response and waited to see if that was all of the excuse. Alistair didn't disappoint him as, after a moment, the boy whined, "And his lessons are so _boring!_"

"But a requirement of your education."

"I never _learn_ anything, though." Alistair then grinned and said proudly, "Except Cailan explains it later if he's home or when I write him about it and then it makes sense."

"Oh?" questioned Maric, wondering exactly how his eldest could explain something better than the old soldier who'd now taught both of his children. "And how does your brother do that?"

The bright smile that his youngest son flashed down at him was almost blinding and Alistair was suddenly swinging down out of the tree as he chirped, "I can show you!" As he landed on the ground, he held up a hand and said, "Wait here. I've got to get our things."

Smiling, Maric shook his head and leaned against the tree, watching the boy as he bounded off and disappeared into a thick cluster of bushes that he remembered being one of Cailan's favorite hiding places during his 'avoid Anora' stage. It was only a few moments later that Alistair burst back out of them, his arms full of a bulging burlap sack and the broken haft of some old tool probably salvaged from the rubbish pit. As he jogged back over, he pointed with the stick towards one of the little alcoves at the edge of the garden alongside the Palace wall.

"We have to go over there," he intoned seriously and Maric motioned for him to lead the way. Which Alistair did with such seriousness that it brought a smile to his face.

When they reached the area and his son dropped the sack, he realized that there was a small section of sand here, though he couldn't recall why there would be. Something must have shown on his face because Alistair stated, "Cailan asked Simund to make it. For us."

He then used the stick to etch two lines into the sand before he stuck it into the ground at the edge and reached into the sack. As he bent down and started placing haphazardly painted wooden pegs into the sand, Maric suddenly had an idea of what was going on. Crouching down, he waited as Alistair continued setting up, merely watching until the boy leaned back and nodded to himself.

"There!" chirped Alistair. "Generally I'm the ones with the black bases 'cause Cailan likes the white ones better."

"He does the same in chess," murmured Maric as he flicked his eyes over what was laid out before him. His eldest son had built a small model of a battlefield and had been teaching his youngest tactics when simple instruction without the practical part didn't make the lesson make sense. It made him both proud of his sons because obviously it had helped Alistair in his lessons but he was concerned as to why neither had come to him.

Looking at the boy beside him, he asked, "Why didn't you come to me if you were having trouble getting Ser Nicholas' lessons?"

Shrugging, Alistair answered, "I told Cailan and he said it helped him," he paused then continued with a great amount of concentration to quote, "nail out the part-ic-ul-ars to actually see the battle."

"Ah. And who did Cailan learn this from?"

"Loghain," came the answer. "Cailan tried to get him to help us but when he found out it was for me he wouldn't do it himself. He got the pegs for us, though."

"I see," said Maric, wondering why Loghain had kept Cailan's minor difficulty a secret. Or perhaps his oldest friend had thought he'd known already. "Have you been working through things on your own without Cailan here?"

"Yes. It's a lot harder. He knows all the pieces better than me."

Nodding, Maric asked, "Well...how about while Cailan isn't here, you work through these things with me. I could even have a small sand table built for us."

Alistair's eyes grew wide for a moment then he breathed, "But...what about this one?"

"This one is yours and Cailan's," answered Maric with a smile. "The other one will be just for us."

"Really?"

That made him laugh and Maric reached out to ruffle Alistair's hair. "Really," he confirmed warmly. "But...no more skipping Ser Nicholas' lessons. Not even if he's sleeping."

"Aww, fine."

The agreement wasn't a happy one but he knew his youngest son would stand by it. Especially now with a new goal to give him an incentive to keep to his lessons.

Settling himself down onto the ground, Maric reached out for one of the pegs and picked it up out of the sand. "Until we can get _our_ table, though, I'm afraid we're going to have to make use of this one. So explain these pieces of yours and we'll set up a battle so I can measure just how well your lessons are going."

Grinning, Alistair burst into an exuberant explanation of the pieces, detailing what each of the different color splotches across the tops represented, and Maric smiled as he watched his boy.

* * *

_This part owes inspiration to MsBarrows' fic __Atonement__ via Loghain and his sand table._


	7. Sister, 9:21 Dragon – Anora

"Now," said Anora as she deftly smoothed the front of Alistair's tunic, "what are we _not _going to do?"

Rolling his eyes, the boy answered, "Don't talk to anyone before being spoken to first even though Cailan said it would be okay."

Humming in agreement, she asked, "And why is that?"

"Because my brother's an optimist?"

"And?"

Sighing, Alistair replied, "Because very few people see me the way he, you, or the Couslands do."

"Correct," she said firmly. "Most of the people out there view bastardborn children as something to be hidden away. I know you've heard a lot of things before, Alistair, but you're going to hear a lot more tonight. And from here on out, it's just going to get worse."

His shoulders slumped at that then he nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. Tilting her head, Anora said, "You asked me to be honest with you and tell you the truth of how your first real mingling with the nobility was going to go." From what Alistair had told her, Cailan's version of how events would go had been a lot more optimistic than reality. It was sweet how he wanted to protect his younger brother but sometimes she wanted to strangle him because he was trying to protect him from _everything_. And he couldn't do that forever.

"I know but that doesn't mean I can't hate it, does it?"

"No."

Smiling, Anora reached out to lightly touch his chin to draw his attention. "Just remember those of us that care for _Alistair_, not the King's bastard," she said reassuringly.

After a moment he nodded and managed to smile back at her. "Thanks, Anora," he said. Then he paused and added, "You make a good big sister."

It was the first time she'd heard the word referred to herself and the concept of siblings was an almost utterly foreign concept. One day, however, it would be true: she would marry Cailan and Alistair would be her brother.

"Thank you," she managed to say. Then she laughed. "And you're not as annoying of a little brother as you used to be."

Alistair looked affronted at that for a brief moment before he started laughing as well. They were still laughing when Cailan entered the little anteroom and his confused look as well as asking what was so amusing just made the two of them laugh harder.

If giving advice and having a good laugh was part of what being a sister entailed, Anora could certainly get used to it.


	8. Prince, 9:22 Dragon – Alistair

When Alistair arrived in Highever after that first long ride from Denerim with his father, he was surly and completely against the idea of being fostered under the Couslands. Not that he didn't _like_ the Couslands, of course. The Teryn and Teryna were two of the few nobility who treated him properly and their sons, Fergus and Aedan, were the only noble children he actually liked.

Well, he liked Nathaniel and Delilah as well when their father wasn't around but he saw the Howes so rarely he wasn't sure he could count them.

But, no, his surly railing against his fostering was because he felt like he was being _abandoned_. It was just the tiniest bit of hurt but it curled up in his chest like a snake, waiting to strike at the most inappropriate times.

So after he was settled into his room by the servants and Father came to say goodbye, Alistair gave him the cold shoulder. Maric had stood there talking for a long time, saying how much he'd like it in Highever and all the things he might learn under Bryce while he was there, until he'd seemed to run out of words. Then, he'd sighed and said, "Alistair."

It was the tone of voice – that slightly stern voice Father got when he wanted attention – that finally made Alistair turn towards him.

"What have I done to wrong you, child?" asked Maric, his voice growing softer, gentler.

And everything exploded out of the twelve year-old.

"I feel like I'm being abandoned!" Alistair shouted back at him, his hands curling into fists. "Why can't I just stay home and learn all these things?"

"Abandoned?" repeated Maric in surprise and he dropped to one knee, extending a hand. Alistair looked at it like it was that hurtful snake in his chest and took a step backwards, causing a pained expression to flash across Father's face. "You know I'd never abandon you."

"Why not? Everyone says you should."

"_Everyone_ might ought to keep their opinions to themselves." Maric shook his head and leaned forward to hook his fingers into a fold of Alistair's tunic, tugging gently. He leaned back for a moment, silently protesting, then shuffled forward reluctantly with a tiny kernel of hope blossoming in his chest.

Peering at Father through the short fringe that tried to fall over his eyes, Alistair asked, "You're not abandoning me, are you?"

In response, Maric tugged hard against his tunic, pulling him close enough to draw into a warm hug. Alistair's hands shook as they unclenched from the fists they'd made themselves into and came up to grip Father's tunic. "My boy," rumbled the King, "I'll never abandon you."

"Then _why_?"

"Because there are things a young man has to learn somewhere beyond home," answered Maric as he pushed Alistair back slightly and lifted a hand to ruffle his short hair. "Remember, if you will, that I sent Cailan to do the same with Eamon at your age."

Wrinkling his nose at the mention of Eamon – because neither the Arl nor his wife seemed to think much of him – Alistair said, "But Cailan's the _Prince_. I'm just _me._"

That brought a laugh out of Father and a shake of his head. "And who," asked Maric as he placed a finger against Alistair's chest, "are you?"

"Alistair," he answered, giving Father a confused look.

"Now, now, you're more than just _Alistair_. You're my son, that makes you a Prince as well."

"No one calls me that!"

"No," agreed Maric, "the Landsmeet refused to acknowledge you officially for the line of succession. That, however, doesn't make you any less a Prince, Alistair."

He mulled that over for a moment, turning the information over and over in his head. Alistair had known since he was very young that he was different from his brother and it had been driven into his head early by his teachers and Loghain that he wasn't a Prince because of his common birth. Yet Father said despite all of that, he was a Prince.

"Cailan will be King one day," he said after a long moment, biting his lip after he finished speaking because _Cailan_ being King meant _Father_ was gone. "What'll I be?"

Smiling, Father pulled him close again and breathed in Alistair's ear, "Whatever you want to be, child. _That_ is what I'm giving you. Be a priest, a Knight, a well-learned farmer, _anything_."

"Anything?" repeated Alistair. The word so was _open_ and it brought with it a thousand possibilities that he couldn't even comprehend. He had a sudden vision of Cailan, grinning that _stupid_ grin of his, with Anora at his side and the crown on his head. And standing behind them was _him_, proud and tall in well-worn armor. "Whatever I am," he muttered, "I want to help Cailan. Keep him safe."

"Then be a Knight."

"_How?_"

Maric laughed and pushed Alistair back, gripping his shoulders with both hands. "Now that," he said, "is a question you can ask Bryce." He then cocked his head to the side and asked, "Are you going to be alright now?"

He began nodding in response quiet before he'd thought about the answer and realized that that terrible snake of abandonment was gone from his chest. Alistair smiled and confirmed, "Yes, Father."

"Good." Father rose to his feet then and reached out to ruffle Alistair's hair again as the door opened behind him, revealing one of his personal guards. "Yes?"

"The horses are ready for the ride back to Denerim, Your Majesty, if you're ready."

"Give me a moment."

The guard bowed and as the door closed after him, Maric looked down at Alistair. "Be good for Bryce and Eleanor. I don't want to be getting too many reports of you getting into mischief."

"Only a little."

"Scamp," growled Father, cuffing him lightly on the shoulder. He then bent and kissed Alistair's forehead, murmuring, "I love you, son."

"Love you, Father," he answered, briefly reaching up to tug at Maric's tunic. As Father straightened, Alistair added, "See you at Wintersend? The Couslands have never missed Wintersend in Denerim!" For that reason alone, Wintersend had always been a holiday he looked forward to and he hoped this year that he would end up back in the capitol with them.

"And I'm sure this year will be no different," were Father's parting words, said with a smile before he disappeared out the door.

After he was gone, Alistair looked around his new room in Highever and chewed on his lip for a moment. Then he shook himself and straightened his tunic, readying himself to go reintroduce himself properly to the Teryn as Father had told him he should during their ride since the King would be leaving quickly after their arrival.

He was a Prince of Ferelden no matter _what_ anyone said and he was going to act like it. Starting _now._


	9. Arrangements, 9:25 Dragon – Loghain

"Tonight we mourn the loss of our father, King Maric Theirin, lost at sea in this year 9:25 Dragon. May his soul find peace in the Maker."

Loghain watched the two boys – yes, _boys_ still even though one had seen twenty years now – as they each grasped a torch and thrust them into the pyre. The fire blazed high almost instantly, orange and yellow tongues flaring up through the dry kindling to lick at the overlarge ragdoll stuffed with straw that had been placed on top in Maric's place. With no body, it was all they had to burn.

As they stepped back, Cailan bowed his head and Alistair hurriedly swiped a hand at his face in an effort to hide his tears. For some reason the light of the fire made the younger boy look all that much more like his father and Loghain had to turn away then, a choking knot in his throat suddenly.

Despite everything that had happened in recent years to fracture their friendship, he and Maric had maintained it. Even broken as it was, it hurt to lose.

Anora moved suddenly from her place next to him to stand beside Cailan and he was reminded that their already impending wedding had been hurriedly moved forward to take place before the impending coronation. As she stepped up, Alistair stepped away – giving his brother and his betrothed a moment together, he supposed.

He watched the boy as he stepped away and arched an eyebrow as the younger Cousland – Aedan, was it? – stepped up and swept him into a hug. Alistair latched onto the other boy and Loghain abruptly remembered that Maric had fostered the lad out to the Couslands three years ago but had wanted him back at the Palace in the months before he'd left. The plan had been to return Alistair to them at some point so far as he was aware.

A presence at his side suddenly had him turning away from the two youths and Loghain found Bryce standing at his elbow. The other man inclined his head slightly in greeting then asked, "I assume you're to have some charge over the lad?"

"I imagine Cailan will be his keeper," answered Loghain sharply, even as Maric's parting _Take care of my boys_ rang in his ears suddenly.

Bryce made a noise that said exactly what he thought of that and Loghain couldn't help but agree. Cailan was little ready to be his younger brother's keeper let alone take the Ferelden throne. "Perhaps you can suggest to his Highness that Alistair would be better away from Denerim and all it's machinations."

He caught onto the 'machinations' and turned to scowl at the other man. "Speak if you've heard something, Bryce. I've no patience for political games."

Cousland smiled thinly and replied, "And that is something I appreciate about you, Loghain." Turning his attention back to his youngest and Alistair, who were now speaking quietly, he continued, "I'm sure whatever sources you have in the city have told you the same but there's unrest. A great deal of the Banns aren't too keen on seeing Cailan coming to the throne so soon. There are a few, I hear, that are trying to raise me up as a claimant."

Loghain arched an eyebrow at the last. Bryce was certainly well-liked amongst the Bannorn, he knew that much from his own sources, but he knew the man as well. Given the support the Couslands had given during the Rebellion, it wasn't likely that Bryce would go against the Theirins no matter how unprepared Cailan was.

"What does all of this have to do with the boy?" he grumbled.

"I've no names but there's talk of trying to convince Alistair to go against Cailan. Young and impressionable lad like that, they say, able to twist him in whatever way he needs to be."

If he had been anywhere else, at any other time, Loghain would have laughed at the idea. "I may not like the boy," he said shortly, "but he's almost painfully loyal."

"Aye," agreed Bryce, "Fergus has compared the lad to Aedan's mabari once or twice." He paused before saying, "You may disapprove of Alistair but I doubt you want to see the lad used so. Particularly if it would mean civil war."

"No. Won't your mysterious _they_, however, think you're taking the boy under your wing to attempt your own uprising?"

"Let them," answered the other man. "If they think I am handling it, perhaps it will keep them from other attempts at changing leadership."

Loghain made a humming noise and nodded his head in quiet contemplation. If Alistair went back to Highever, it would take him out of the immediate hands of those in Denerim who were likely some of the primary plotters. As Bryce had pointed out too, it would place him in the hands of their would-be claimant and that might have a good few of them relax, thinking that all their plans will eventually fall into place. Plus, his favorite, the boy would be out of his sight again.

Looking at Bryce, he said, "I will make the suggestion to Cailan tomorrow." As the other man nodded, Loghain thought of something else. "How long will you be remaining in Denerim?"

"Only a few days."

"It would probably be best if the boy traveled back with you."

Bryce nodded then said, "I'll take my leave of you then, Loghain. When you have news, you know where to find me."

Loghain nodded absently at the other man's back as he turned and focused his attention on the youngest Theirin. Maric's parting words rang through his head again and he sighed before muttering, "This is all the help I'm to give him. After that, he's on his own."


	10. Safety, 9:25 Dragon – Cailan

"Send him back to Highever for his safety?" repeated Cailan, staring in concern at his father's oldest friend. His future father-in-law – Maker, was _that_ idea terrifying! – had never made it a secret what his thought about his half-brother, so it was more than a little disconcerting now to find him speaking up for Alistair. He really wanted to ask Loghain if he was getting sick but he withheld the urge.

"There have been uncomfortable rumors on the wind," intoned Loghain seriously.

From her seat in the chair next to his father's desk, Anora arched an eyebrow. "What sort of rumors, Father?"

"The treasonous sort."

Cailan frowned at that and closed his eyes, lifting a hand to rub at his forehead as he thought over all that short sentence contained within it. Treasonous rumors meant certain members of the populace weren't happy that he was taking the throne so early. Not that he hadn't known _that_ already – he'd overheard it personally thanks to Habren not having the good sense to keep her voice down.

Would that he could simply shout from the Palace rooftop that he didn't _want_ the job right now. He'd had plans to simply get married and spend the years up until he took the crown doing as many aimless things as he could and possibly dragging Alistair along on them. Now the weight of the crown had been forced upon him and it was a nearly buckling force.

He couldn't help but wonder if _that_ feeling was how Father had felt after he had watched his mother die.

After a moment, Anora broke the silence that had fallen by scoffing and saying, "And they think to use Alistair? They do recall that the Landsmeet never accepted him into the succession, do they not?"

"I don't imagine they intend to take the crown without a fight using that method," answered Loghain. Cailan then opened his eyes to meet the older man's darker gaze as he continued, "Or they intend to force the issue by having only one heir of Theirin blood to succeed the throne."

"Surely no one would be that serious about this, Father!"

"Perhaps not. Nevertheless...better to be cautious."

_Better for whom_? Cailan wanted to ask. Father's sudden death had flayed both his and his brother's hearts open, exposing them to harsher elements. Anora was a shoulder for him to lean on, yes, but she wasn't _Alistair. _He wanted to keep his brother at his side where they could keep an eye on each other, not on the other side of Ferelden under the care of someone else.

And who did Alistair have besides him?

Loghain pursed his lips and said, "There is no family more trustworthy then the Couslands." As Anora nodded her head in agreement, he continued, "And the eldest was fostered with you at Redcliffe, I recall."

Cailan nodded slightly, remembering those days with both fondness and not. He had enjoyed the lessons he'd learned alongside Fergus – most especially from his uncle Teagan – but he had also hated being away from his brother. And then when his time at Redcliffe was done, he had returned home to find his brother was already on his way to Highever.

After a moment's thought, he looked up, first catching Loghain's gaze then Anora's. "Alistair's safety is one of my greatest priorities. Not only because if I die, he's the only Theirin claimant to the throne, but because he's my _brother._" The expression on his future father-in-law's face at his words was one of disapproval but Cailan found he didn't care. Loghain might have never cared for Alistair but _he_ _himself _had been ecstatic to become a big brother, no matter what his origins were. "Tell me, _honestly_, do both of you believe it best for him to go to Highever?"

"Yes," answered Loghain almost immediately.

Cailan turned to look at Anora and she smiled back at him. Reaching across the desk for his hand, she said, "I've come to care for Alistair as well, you know."

"I know," he answered, even as he remembered younger days when she couldn't stand him. That, however, was mostly because a much younger Alistair had ruined one of her dolls.

"And I know it will hurt you both to be apart." Ah, yes, she saw to the heart of him. "Sending him back to Highever will keep him the safest possible without sending him away from Ferelden entirely. Bryce and Eleanor will not let anything happen to him."

Nodding, Cailan sighed and said, "Alistair will go back to Highever with the Couslands."

Loghain nodded. "I'll send a page to inform the boy then," he said and that brought Cailan to his feet.

"No!" Meeting the older man's frown with one of his own, he continued, "I owe it to him to explain why he's being sent away at a time when otherwise he knows I'd keep him close."

"As you will," ground out Loghain even as Anora squeezed Cailan's hand and smiled at him.

Squeezing hers in return briefly, he left his father's office where they'd had their little meeting and went to his brother's room, knocking politely and waiting for an answer. As Alistair opened the door, still hurriedly swiping at reddened eyes that told Cailan he'd been crying, he said, "We need to talk, little brother," and watched painful realization dawn on the younger features so similar to his own.

And very quietly, in the back of his mind, Cailan damned every single soul that stood against the crown to a painful fate for what they were doing to his family.


	11. Protection, 9:25 Dragon - Alistair

"Leave?" he questioned, half unable to believe the plan that his brother had laid out. They had only just said goodbye to Father and he was supposed to _go back to Highever_. As if nothing had happened?

"For your own safety," insisted Cailan. He sighed before continuing, "Loghain has been hearing treasonous rumors -"

"_Loghain!_" exploded Alistair, shoving himself up out of the seat he'd fallen into while listening. "You're listening to _Loghain_ of all people about this! He _hates_ me, Cailan! Of course he'd rather see me at Highever than at home." Running a hand through his hair, he continued, "He'd probably rather I'd stay there."

There was a moment of silence and then his brother quietly said, "Anora agreed it was the best course."

And Alistair froze, his hand halfway through a second run through his hair. _Anora_ had agreed, had said it was best that he leave his home _again_. That hurt just the tiniest bit because she knew exactly how much it had hurt him to be away from home.

Oh, he loved Highever and the Couslands but home was _home_.

She was, however, also his _sister_. Maybe not officially yet but he'd thought of her like that for a while. Since he'd known about her and Cailan's arranged marriage to be honest. And her being his sister meant that she looked out for him, just like Cailan did.

Turning to face his brother, Alistair asked, "What's going on, Cailan?"

"Can't we leave it at treason, little brother?"

"_Stop trying to protect me!_"

Cailan took a step back and Alistair knew he'd surprised him. Maker, he'd surprised _himself_ a little. Taking a deep breath and trying to calm his already shaky nerves, he said softly, "I deserve to know why I'm being sent away."

Sighing, his brother nodded and then explained all of the treason. Cailan disposed or, worse, dead. Himself harnessed like he was some kind of _dog_ (not even a _Mabari_, just a hound) and made to be a pet King. And who knew what might happen to Anora in the aftermath of that, though she'd likely end up dead herself.

Shaking his head, Alistair lifted his hands and rubbed them across his face as his mind whirled. Finally he breathed, "Highever is the safest place for me to be."

"Yes," said Cailan and he jerked his head towards his brother. The pain in his voice was as sharp as the lash from a whip and suddenly Alistair was ashamed of himself. He'd been thinking of himself and how _he_ was being hurt by this and hadn't even stopped to consider how this was hurting _Cailan._

Maybe _that_ was why he was the bastard son, because his first thought was his pain and not his brother's. And Cailan's had been of protecting him.

An apology burst from his lips and then his brother was on him, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. Alistair choked down another rising sob – because by the Maker he was fifteen and too old for that sort of thing – and clung to him in return.

"I'll go," he breathed. "I'll go back to Highever."

"This isn't what I want, little brother," hissed Cailan. Pushing them apart, he held them at arms length from each other and Alistair met his blue eyes as they darted to meet his own. "If I could have my way, you'd be here. You know that, right?"

Alistair nodded. "That's what makes it hurt the most," he choked out.

Cailan just shook his head and pulled him back in close and Alistair closed his eyes as he clung to his brother tightly. He knew from Aedan that the Couslands would be returning to Highever in a few days and now...now he would be going with them for his own protection.

A few days wasn't enough time for anything.

He then thought of Father, of the fifteen years they'd had, and the tears from earlier came back with a vengeance as he realized that no amount of time was time enough.


	12. Trust, 9:30 Dragon – Anora

She stared down at the letter in her hands for a long moment, quietly acknowledging the fact that it had been crumpled and then flattened out while she read the words again and again. "Visit to Ferelden?" she murmured. "Permanent alliance?"

Looking up at her husband where he stood across the room, his back to her as he leaned on his father's desk, Anora breathed, "Cailan...what _is_ this?"

"Celene being particularly _Orlesian_," he answered and the tone he said Orlesian in was almost exactly the same half-sneer her father always said it in. Turning to look at her, Cailan's face was open, desperate, his blue eyes wide. "I wrote nothing of the like to her, Anora."

She remembered the earlier letter that had been sent by the Empress, talking of the Blight, of the darkspawn he was about to be leaving to fight. It had been polite, a simple offering of men, and Cailan had sent back an answer thanking her for the offer and that he would send word if the Orlesian forces were needed. Anora knew every word of the letter because she had been sitting in his office when he wrote it.

And she trusted her husband.

Turning, she threw the letter into the fireplace and then moved to lean against Cailan's back, the palms of her hands flat against his waist. "I believe you," she murmured.

The tenseness in her husband evaporated and he turned, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. His hands found her face and cupped it as he kissed her, gratitude and love radiating from him. Anora slid her hands over his just as the kiss ended and he opened his eyes to meet hers.

"Thank you," said Cailan quietly and she smiled. Then he nodded towards the roll of parchment on his desk, sealed with the royal seal as well as her own, marking her agreement. "And you..."

"I will support Alistair," she confirmed. Anora then trembled, unable to keep the fear at bay, and she leaned further into him. As Cailan folded his arms around her again, she breathed, "Be safe."

He pressed a kiss into her hair and murmured, "If I can return to you, Anora, I will. You have my word."

She nodded then tilted her head back to kiss him. A different kiss altogether, this had them moving from his office to the rooms beyond, where their bed waited. And as they fell into each other for what might be the last time, memorizing each other with hands and mouths, Anora prayed that she would see him again.


	13. Wishes, 9:30 Dragon – Alistair

He stared down at the letter in his hands, disbelieving that the words that were written on it had come from his brother's hand.

_Do not ride with Fergus to Ostagar. I don't care if you've been serving as his squire at Highever – I don't want you involved in this, Alistair._

"Honestly!" exclaimed Alistair as he tossed the letter aside onto the nearby end table. Looking down at Aedan's mabari, Dane, who was lying next to his chair. "You'd think he didn't know I could handle myself!"

"Who?" asked Aedan himself as he entered the sitting room. His eyes then flicked to the thicker parchment sitting on the table that had been wrapped around the letter and obviously noted the broken royal seal. "Ah. The King." As he sank down into the chair sitting on the other side of Dane and leaned down to scratch the mabari behind the ears, he continued, "What's it about this time?"

Alistair sighed as he sank grumpily down in his chair and answered, "He doesn't want me riding out with Fergus. Like I'm a child!"

That made the other young man laugh. "He's doing his job as your big brother and being overprotective," Aedan said warmly. "I know. Fergus has been doing the same thing to me for years."

"I_ know_," groaned Alistair, "and I don't blame him for it. But, Maker, I'm tired of being treated like I'm made of glass! He's been like this since Father died."

"I imagine he doesn't want to lose you as well," said Aedan soberly. Lifting a hand, he pointed at Alistair as he said, "Not to mention succession might fall to you if _he_ died."

"Maker forbid!"

Alistair then ran a hand through his hair and made a low growling noise that made Dane perk his ears up and let out a sharp bark. As Aedan patted the dog, the blond young man sighed and said, "I don't want to lose him either, Aedan. That's why I want to be _there_. I mean, this is _darkspawn, _not just some normal foe. Anything could happen!"

"I know," replied Aedan, his tone serious. "_My_ brother is riding out right into it tomorrow, remember?"

Both of them stared at each other then, starkly sober, and Alistair swallowed hard before he spoke again.

"Neither of us is going to Ostagar, are we?"

"Not unless we end up with the Maker's own luck," answered Aedan as he went back to scratching his mabari's ears. "Way things are, something serious would have to happen for us to end up there."

"I almost want it to," muttered Alistair as he reached out to pick the letter back up and fingered it nervously. As Aedan started to open his mouth, he hurriedly added, "_Almost._"

"Yes," said Aedan with a slight nod, "but as Mallol liked to tell me when I was little and wishing for things, be careful what you wish for.


	14. Attack, 9:30 Dragon – Alistair

Alistair woke to the sound of sounds of fighting outside his door and frowned as he laid in bed, confused by the fact. Then he heard the distinctive gurgle of a dying man – starkly obvious to him because he'd only heard it once before when he'd attended an execution with Father – and bolted out of bed. His first instinct was to reach for his sword and as he drew it from the scabbard, the blade gleaming in the dying light of the candle on his bedside table, something slammed into his door.

There were several grunts and growls from the other side then whoever it was apparently decided to give up. He waited, every muscle tense, until he was certain they were gone then lunged for his armor where it hung on the stand across the room. His hands trembled a little as he pulled on the gambeson after putting down his sword within easy reach and he paused a moment to take a couple of steadying breaths.

As calm settled over him, Alistair reached for the armor. It was all fine steel and hard leather and had been a gift from Cailan on his twentieth birthday earlier in the year. Perhaps the most shocking part about the gift had been the inclusion of the Theirin mabari emblazoned across the right pauldron and he'd immediately written a letter asking his brother if he'd sent the right armor. Cailan had sent a response that practically bled amusement as he answered that bastard or not, acknowledged by the Landsmeet or not, he had the right to wear the Theirin arms by blood alone.

Securing the last few buckles and making sure they were tight, he reached up to touch that pauldron briefly before grabbing his sword's scabbard and his belt. Now ready, Alistair picked his sword back up, took a deep breath, and pulled open the lock on the door.

As he opened the door and peered into the hall, his eyes widened as he saw the downed figure of one of the Cousland servants, William. _Maker, he has a little girl_, thought Alistair, remembering that the man had proudly talked about his young daughter's newest feats of artistry constantly. _Who did this?!_

Stepping out into the corridor, he looked left and right but there was nothing else with him but William's body. He could, however, hear more fighting distantly from his left and his eyes widened as he knew exactly where that hallway led. Turning right at the end of the hall led you to a door that led out into a small, inner courtyard and there was a small set of stairs there that led up to the innermost section of the castle that held the Teryn's quarters.

Cursing under his breath, Alistair broke into a run and burst out into the courtyard to find a handful of the Cousland guardsmen embroiled in battle with their attackers. The closest pair broke apart suddenly, the attacker staggering back before going completely off balance and falling to the ground and the guardsman rushed forward to thrust his blade into his throat in one swift motion. As the man died, the guard looked up towards Alistair and the young man realized he wasn't just some Cousland guard.

"Ser Martin!"

"Alistair!" gasped the Knight. He quickly moved across the space between them and reached out to clasp the younger man's arm. "We feared you dead, lad!"

Shaking his head, Alistair said, "I had my door locked same as I always do in fear of one of Aedan's midnight pranks. They tried it and when they couldn't barge in they apparently moved on." He glanced beyond the man at his fallen attacker and his eyes grew large as he recognized the heraldry on the man's fallen shield. "I...Howe? It's Howe's men attacking us?"

"Aye, the bloody traitor!" growled Ser Martin. He then spun at a pained yelp from one of the other guardsmen and cursed when he saw one of them was down permanently. Pointing upwards, he snapped, "See to the Teyrna and the others, Alistair! We'll hold them here or damn well die trying!"

Nodding because that was all he could do, Alistair watched as the man ran across the small courtyard to aid the other guardsman. Then he turned and took the steps up towards the inner section of the castle two and three at a time. When he reached the door, he threw his shoulder into it and found himself bursting into the large, common room of the Teryn's quarters with the backs of two of Howe's men facing him.

And the focus of their attention was the open door at the far end of the room where the Teryna stood dressed in battle leathers with a bow drawn and a withering expression on her face.

Alistair didn't wait for Howe's men to notice him. He gripped his sword tight with both hands to draw it back and lunged at the man on the right who had a crossbow. At the last moment, the other man turned and his mouth opened to say something but he never got the chance as Alistair brought his blade down in a swift swing that caught him just below the jaw. The force of the blow separated his head from his shoulders and the young man fought a sudden rise of bile in his throat as blood spattered across the floor.

"Alistair," came Eleanor's voice then and her strong grip on his arm. He looked at her, a little surprised to suddenly find her at his side, and then he saw that the other guard was down with two arrows in him – one to the throat and the other through the eye. Swallowing hard and thinking of how he never, ever, _ever_ wanted to piss off the Teryna that much, he turned his attention back to her.

"They're Howe's men," he managed to say. "Ser Martin and a few of the other guardsmen are down in the small courtyard trying to keep more of them from getting up here. He told me to see to you."

She nodded and started to say something before they both spun as a door opened. Thinking it was the one behind them, Alistair spun all the way around, sword at the ready, but it was instead a door to his right that revealed a bloodspattered Aedan and Dane. "Oh thank the Maker," breathed the Teryna and she moved to embrace her youngest son, touching his face as if to make sure he was real. She then looked beyond him, down the hall he'd come from and asked, "Where are Oriana and Oren?"

Dread lapped over Alistair as his friend's expression turned haunted.

"They're dead, Mother," Aedan answered, his voice barely above a whisper and his hands clenching around the bloodstained short swords he preferred to fight with.

"Those _monsters_. Oh, my poor Oren!"

Alistair turned his face away, letting them have whatever moment he could, and quietly mourned himself. Oriana had always been kind to him, very much like the family she'd married into, and he'd been at Highever since Oren's birth excepting those months when he'd returned to Denerim. He'd watched the boy grow up! And now he was_ dead_.

Rage filled him suddenly and Alistair gripped his sword tightly as he growled, "They'll pay."

"Yes, they will," agreed Eleanor and he looked towards the Teryna to see her wiping her eyes. Then she straightened and said, "We need to find Bryce. He never came to bed last night so he's somewhere in the middle of this. Then we'll see that Howe pays for this treachery."

Nodding, Aedan took a deep breath and said, "Let's go then."


	15. Hope, 9:30 Dragon – Aedan

He stumbled blindly down the tunnel, following the sound of clanking armor and harsh breathing that was Alistair ahead of him. More than anything Aedan wanted to turn back, to rush back down the tunnel to the kitchen pantry but by now Howe's men were there. It would only lead to his death to go back.

Yet he wasn't really seeing the problem with that.

Oriana and Oren were dead.

Mother and Father were dead.

Fergus could be dead somewhere along the road for all he knew!

All that he knew was left of his family was Dane.

Suddenly an armored hand gripped his shoulder and Aedan looked up into Alistair's hazel eyes, blinking at his friend for a moment.

"I need you," hissed the other young man. "_Aedan_. I need you if we're going to live through this night and see Howe come to justice."

"Why?" he answered, his voice breaking like it hadn't done since he was a youth. "Everyone I love is _dead_! I've got nothing left to see justice for!"

Alistair snarled and shoved him against the side of the tunnel, spitting, "Fergus is still out there! And, damnit, man, I love you like a brother! You've got _me_!"

Aedan blinked hard, sudden tears rushing to his eyes, and he breathed, "Alistair..."

His friend – no, his brother in everything but blood – released him and stepped back even as he held out an armored fist. Expectant. Waiting.

"We'll do this," insisted Alistair. "Together. You, me, and Fergus. We'll see him pay."

The hope that filled Aedan suddenly was almost foreign, like he'd forgotten what it felt like as he'd been consumed by grief. As he reached out and grasped Alistair's hand tight, he said brokenly, "Together." And he knew – _knew_ – right then in that moment that they'd succeed.


	16. Survivors, 9:30 Dragon – Alistair

Seeing the ancient arches of Ostagar and the Tower of Ishal rising out of the trees ahead of them was perhaps the best thing Alistair had seen over the past weeks of hard travel on foot.

By the time they reached the end of the bridge and were greeted by the soldier standing guard at the end of it, he wasn't quite so cheerful. The soldier had obviously seen the Cousland arms on the shield Aedan was carrying and called out, "Last of Highever?"

Immediately his friend flinched violently, causing Dane to growl, and Alistair answered, "The rest of the Highever troops won't be coming. Neither will the Teryn or Arl Howe with his men."

"What?"

"Howe attacked Highever in the night over three weeks past!" exploded Aedan angrily before Alistair could answer. "Men, women, children dead and the Teryn and Teryna with them!"

The soldier rapidly lost color in the wake of the violent words and stammered, "Uh...ah...you need to see the King. His tent's right beyond this wall to the left."

"Thank you," ground out Alistair as he gripped his friend's shoulder and steered him forward. As they started moving, he leaned forward and hissed, "Calm down. I'm sure Fergus is here." The look he was flashed in return told him his guess about Aedan's behavior was correct and that he didn't rightly believe that his brother would be in camp.

As soon as they walked into the main camp, someone recognized him by the twin mabari on the pauldron of his armor. "Why in the Maker's name are you wearing," a random soldier started as he stormed towards them and then trailed off when they looked up at his face. "King Maric's bastard," the man finished in a low, shocked voice.

Gritting his teeth, impatient to get to his brother, Alistair snarled, "Yes, yes, and _yes._ Now if you'll kindly get out of the way, we have urgent business with my brother." The man went starkly silent and he dragged Aedan on past him, faintly aware of Dane growling at the man as the mabari stalked after them. He was being terribly rude now, behavior Father and his own childhood nurse Osanna would have had his head for, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

By the time they finally reached the King's tent – having been almost stopped two more times – Alistair was at the end of his considerable patience and simply shouted his brother's name past the guard standing at the door. It caused a great deal of the camp to turn to look at them but it had the desired effect of having a bewildered Cailan poke his head out of his tent.

Of course, almost instantly, his expression turned furious as he dragged the pair of them inside.

"I told you to stay in Highever!" his older brother hissed as soon as the heavy fabric of the 'door' swung closed behind them. Cailan then seemed to notice the state both of them were in and all of his anger vanished to be replaced by concern. "What are you two doing here on your own?"

"Not by choice," mumbled Aedan and Alistair clasped his friend's shoulder.

"Highever was attacked," he explained to his brother. "Arl Howe's turned traitor. His men attacked the castle during the night and killed as many as they could. We barely escaped with our lives ourselves and only thanks to the sacrifices of too many good men and women."

Cailan shook his head in horror then his eyes flicked to Aedan as he asked, "Bryce and Eleanor?"

Before Alistair could answer, his friend mournfully stated, "Dead by now."

Cursing, Cailan turned away from the two of them and Alistair pushed Aedan towards one of the camp chairs before striding across the tent to stand next to his brother. Blue eyes turned to look at him and he quietly said, "Please tell me Fergus arrived safely. I don't think Aedan can take anymore losses."

"Yes, he's currently out scouting the Wilds with some of his men." Cailan paused after speaking and turned to drag him into a hug. "Thank the Maker you're safe, little brother. If you'd died because of Howe's treachery..."

"I didn't," insisted Alistair as he hugged his brother back tightly. "A lot of good people did though. Fergus' wife and child included."

Cailan closed his eyes, pain etched onto his face at the news, and when he reopened them they were filled with rage. "When we are done here," he growled, "Howe will face the full wrath of the crown. I can promise you that." He then took a breath and called out for the guard standing at the front of his tent, asking for food, drink, and cots to be brought as quickly as possible.

"You'll stay here," he ordered a moment later, "both of you, _right here_, in my tent under my watch. No arguments."

"Cailan..."

"Howe could very well have men planted in our camp!" exploded Cailan, his calm slipping and causing Aedan to jump on the other side of the tent. He then reached out to grasp both of Alistair's arms and hissed, "I _won't_ lose you, little brother. Not if I can help it."

After a moment Alistair just nodded and breathed, "Alright." Under the current circumstances, he could completely understand his brother's protectiveness. "It's going to get awfully cramped, though."

His brother's lips quirked into a smile as he replied, "I'm sure we'll survive."

At that point a trio of servants arrived, one of them carrying a pair of cots with two blankets tossed over their shoulder while the other two juggled trays of food and pitchers of something to drink. Waving Alistair aside, Cailan swiftly ordered them around and they were out of the tent as quickly as they arrived. And just in time for them to meet Loghain as he came rushing into the tent.

"What's all of this commo -" The older man was cut off mid-word as he spotted Alistair and he frowned, looking between him and Cailan. His whole demeanor was suddenly terribly weary as he spotted the despondent Aedan cradling the Highever shield in one arm and petting Dane with the other. "Something's happened."

"Yes," answered Cailan but when Alistair opened his mouth to explain it again his brother shushed him. "No, you sit, you eat, you get some of the same into that boy before he drops, and then you _rest_. I'll handle things from here."

Mouth still open, Alistair started to protest then his shoulders slumped at the prospect of not having to lead. He'd been in charge since Highever, practically dragging Aedan along, and it suddenly struck him how exhausted he was. Cailan nodded at his silent acquiescence then waved Loghain outside the tent, leaving the two younger men alone.

Turning to Aedan, Alistair sighed before moving over to his friend and gently prying the shield from his grasp. It didn't come easy and only with the reassurance that it was nearby did he let go entirely. In the end he didn't manage to get much into Aedan before exhaustion and grief caught up and he ended up having to lever the other boy onto one of the cots. More of the food and water went down Dane's gullet than had gone into Aedan before the mabari settled down on the floor next to his master.

As he was leaning back in one of Cailan's chairs and gnawing thoughtfully on a piece of cheese, Alistair looked up to see Loghain suddenly looming in the doorway. The man was simply staring at him, his expression a mix of surprise and...pride? "Ser?" he queried, confused by the sudden appearance of an emotion the older man had never shown towards him.

"Merely marveling at how wrong a judge I can be sometimes," Loghain intoned quietly. "You did well, boy."

Alistair snorted and said, "Not good enough. Bryce and Eleanor..." Now he choked up, recalling that terrible scene in the pantry. "A lot of people died."

"Yet you and the Cousland boy survived to warn the rest of us."

"People. _Died_."

"That is the unfortunate tendency of life," said Loghain. "Thinking of what you could have done different, of who else you might have saved, will only drive you mad."

Alistair narrowed his eyes at the older man, wondering where all of this was coming from, as he asked, "Speaking from experience?" He got no answer but a thin smile and then the Teryn was gone, leaving him alone with his exhausted friend and his mabari.

Shaking himself to get rid of the shivers running up his spine at the odd encounter with Loghain, he rose and unbuckled just enough of his armor that it wouldn't kill him laying down on the cot. Aedan was lucky that he was wearing leathers and not steel – it was so much more of a hassle. That thought was Alistair's last before he dropped onto the cot, asleep before his head even hit the pillow that had mysteriously appeared on it.


	17. Meeting, 9:30 Dragon – Duncan

Leaning back into the chair he'd been provided upon entering Teryn Loghain's tent, Duncan mused quietly over the story he'd been provided by the King. It was a rather impressive tale of survival given the surprise of the attack on Highever and he certainly wanted to meet both of the boys that had stumbled into camp only a few hours before.

That those boys were also the reason he, the King, and the Teryn were meeting in the Teryn's tent instead of the King's said something about Cailan as well. It certainly had him regarding the young man in a different light than he had the first time he'd met him. There were many tales revolving around the young King, most of them describing him as something of a fool, but that was not the man that Duncan saw.

No, he saw a very capable young man – perhaps a little overwhelmed from time to time but who was not when faced with a Blight – and a fair leader. And one who would obviously do anything to protect his brother. Given his own charge to protect Fiona's son, he found that he could sympathize greatly with the latter.

"Should we change our strategy?" questioned the King, looking between the two older men. "We've already rebuffed two waves of darkspawn and according to our scouts they seem to have mostly retreated from the area. Dare we really keep all of our forces here while Howe ravages Highever?"

Leaning forward, Duncan said, "You dare not leave, Your Majesty. The darkspawn may seem to be gone but they no doubt _will_ return given this is their best route north. As I have been telling you, we are in a Blight. Until the Archdemon is slain, we will continue to contend with darkspawn."

From his left Loghain frowned darkly. "_If_ we are in a Blight."

"We are," intoned Duncan seriously. "We Wardens know."

The King looked like he wanted to question how, his blue eyes alive with curiosity, then he seemed to smother the urge. Instead he looked at Loghain and said, "Given that we have no idea of how the darkspawn operate, for now we'll bow to the Wardens greater knowledge of them. Isn't that how you taught me, Loghain?"

"You know full well it is," growled the Teryn. He then turned to Duncan and spat, "Very well then, _Duncan_, how is it you would have us operate?"

Duncan arched an eyebrow at the other man, wondering where the sudden ire from coming from. Then he recalled that long ago mission, his first back into the country he'd been born in, and a much younger Teryn coming after his King. He wasn't about to let the past play upon the present situation, however.

"Much as you are now," he answered. "I would, however, put a closer watch on the Tower of Ishal. Those lower chambers worry me and darkspawn are capable of tunneling beneath the earth. I fear with the Archdemon behind this horde they might be wise enough to flank us."

With a sharp nod, the King said, "I'll send a larger group of men into the Tower then. I also sent one of my men to Redcliffe with a letter for Uncle Eamon to inform him that his troops were needed."

Loghain straightened at this and Duncan blinked slowly as the Teryn said, "Two days ago you were claiming that we likely wouldn't need Redcliffe's forces despite my warning that we should have them just to be cautious."

"That was before my brother _walked_ here from Highever," hissed Cailan, his blue eyes snapping suddenly with cold fury. "Before I learned one of my Arls went against the oaths he swore and attacked the only other Terynir of Ferelden, killing it's rightful Teryn."

There was a long pause after he finished speaking and then Loghain leaned forward, his dark eyes serious. "The boy is a _bastard_," he snarled. "There is absolutely no reason to worry so much about him when he had no standing."

The King rose from his seat, his expression thunderous, and snapped, "All the years of my life, you've claimed to _never_ like the politics played by the nobility yet ever since Alistair arrived in our lives, you have taken every opportunity to play politics against _him._" Leaning across the table they sat around, he continued in a low snarl, "I do not seek to protect him because he's a possible heir to the throne in the case of my death, Loghain. I seek to protect him because he's my _brother_, my _blood_, and I made a promise when I was only five years old that I would never let anything happen to him!"

Leaning back in his chair, Duncan stilled the smile that wanted to show itself. He truly could find himself liking this young King but this quickly growing (and old, by his guess) argument was not productive.

"Gentlemen," he said in his firmest voice, drawing their attention, "we must not let our focus stray from the dangers of the Blight or we may find ourselves losing everything that we wish to protect."

After a moment the King nodded and straightened. "You are too right, Duncan. I apologize for my outburst."

"No need for apologies, Your Majesty," assured Duncan, allowing his smile to show now. He then inclined his head towards both of them as he continued, "If you'll excuse me, however, I must take my leave. Jarriad should be returning soon with my latest recruits from their mission in the Wilds."

Loghain narrowed his eyes at him then turned his head away almost dismissively, curiously silent now. The King frowned at the older man for a moment before he said, "Thank you for your advice, Duncan. I should go see to getting those men in the Tower and then see to my brother and Aedan. Good night to you both."

"Good night, Your Majesty," said both Duncan and Loghain at once as Cailan left the tent. As he turned to leave, the other man called his name.

Turning back, Duncan arched an eyebrow and met the Teryn's dark gaze levely.

"I don't like this game you're playing," growled Loghain.

Narrowing his eyes, Duncan found himself not particularly liking the man the much younger Teryn he'd met had grown into. Especially not after hearing of how he'd treated Alistair all of the boy's life firsthand from Cailan's lips. "I do not play games when it concerns darkspawn, Teryn Loghain."

"Wardens always play games! I learned that firsthand when you all dragged Maric off on that little mission of yours years ago." Loghain paused then hissed, "That merely led up to that _boy._"

"That _boy_ as you call him," said Duncan slowly, his voice dangerously low, "is the child of one of my oldest friends. She never expected Maric to keep him, merely to keep him safe. It was her wish that he not be involved with either of their lives."

With a snarl, the Teryn was out of his seat so quickly that the camp chair overturned. He stalked away a step, his back towards Duncan, and then stopped.

"It was a betrayal to Rowan's memory," said Loghain and suddenly Duncan could hear the much younger man from years before. There had been pain there then but his own younger self was never able to comprehend it. Now, he could feel it all too well though he did not dare ponder at the why's too closely.

"Alistair was not responsible."

"I know that!" exploded the other man. He then stilled and turned to lean on the table, suddenly looking far older than he actually was. "The boy surprised me. Surviving that mess in Highever...it was an impressive feat."

Somewhat amused now, Duncan said, "You shouldn't be surprised. He is, after all, Maric's son."

"I never saw him as such."

"And perhaps that is the problem."

Loghain looked up at that then scowled suddenly, asking, "Wasn't there somewhere you needed to be?" Shaking his head and not at all put off by the abrupt rebuff, Duncan stepped forward and leaned on the other side of the table, smiling slightly.

"I have a few moments," he answered.

"And something to say," snarled the other man.

Duncan tilted his head slightly to the side. "You are the one who opened the door. I've merely stepped through it."

Loghain snorted then fell silent, obviously waiting for him to continue. Shaking his head, Duncan leaned a little further across the table and said quietly, "Perhaps you should try seeing Alistair as the son of your friend instead of the bastard son of your King."

With that, Duncan turned on his heel and left the tent, leaving the Teryn to his memories and likely painful confrontation with the reality of what he had been putting an innocent boy through for too many years. He could only hope that the man would come to terms with it quickly as he was all too certain they did not have much time left.

The horde was coming, whether they were ready or not.


	18. Nobility, 9:30 Dragon – Alistair

"Hey, long legs! How about giving a girl a hand?"

Blinking, Alistair stopped in the middle of running through one of the blade exercises Ser Martin had taught him in the free space near his brother's tent and turned to look down at a short, stocky figure hovering nearby. He could just barely make out a bob of short dark hair behind the rather overwhelming looking stack of various gear and he sheathed his sword before moving forward. Taking a hold of a large section of the top of the pile, which seemed to be several spare bits of armor as well as a swath of blue and white fabric, he lifted it up and finally found the face of the speaker.

She wasn't the pretty that he'd seen a few of the other lads in Highever making eyes over thanks to the series of blue tattoos that covered most of the right side of her face and a nose that had obviously been broken a few times but she _was_ pretty. He thought that her green eyes stood out particularly thanks to the brand.

"Thanks!" the dwarf chirped with a broad smile, showing off a pair of chipped teeth. "I'd shake your hand for the help, long legs, as no one else seemed to be giving two nugs about me but they're a bit occupied. Name's Natia."

"Alistair," he supplied. Looking down at the fabric on top of the pile in his arms, he suddenly recognized the griffin embroidered across it and glanced down at her in a new light. "You're a Warden!"

The chip-toothed grin appeared again as Natia cheerily said, "Newest in the country as of a few hours ago. Haven't been able to sleep since then and I think old Jarriad finally got tired of me bugging him for info so he sent me to that grumpy looking quartermaster. I think he found it funny to try and make me fall over."

Frowning, Alistair glanced in the direction he'd learned the quartermaster was from the quick tour one of Cailan's guards had given him when he'd woken up. "He shouldn't have done that," he said shortly.

Natia shrugged as much as she could with her burden. "I'll be angry about it later. Right now I'm just happy to still be breathing." Her expression darkened a little as she added, "Seen a good few folks lately that aren't anymore. Got to enjoy the moments you get, you understand me?"

"I suppose so," he answered even as her words made him think of Highever. Shaking his head, Alistair hefted his new burden and asked, "So, where were you going?"

"Oh, edge of the Wardens camp! Apparently they've got me a tent and everything."

Judging by the sound of her voice, Alistair could take a guess that in her life she hadn't owned a lot of things.

"I'll follow you then," he said. Then he paused and turned to call out to the man who was standing guard in front of Cailan's tent. "Ser Oswold, I'll be walking with the Warden down to their camp. Let my brother know if he asks? Or Aedan?" He added the last almost hopefully as his friend had seemed to have fallen into a stupor that he couldn't draw him out of.

"Of course, ser," answered the guard, inclining his head slightly.

As Alistair turned back to face Natia, he found her eying him curiously. "What?" he questioned.

"Awful friendly with your King's guard, aren't you?"

Laughing, he said, "I'm not surprised you don't know. Let me introduce myself again: I'm Alistair, the King's bastard brother."

Her eyebrows went up at that and she whistled as she started moving in the direction of the Wardens camp. As he trailed behind her, she turned her head to say, "Didn't take you for royalty, long legs."

"Oh? Why's that?"

There was a long moment's pause before Natia answered. "Usually all we Dusters hear about royals is how much better than us they are. Unless you're pretty, you won't get anything from one of them."

Sighing, Alistair shook his head and said, "I can understand that in a way. Bastard's generally don't get anything from nobles either."

That chip-toothed smile flashed at him again and she said, "We got something in common then, eh, Alistair?"

"Suppose we do," he answered with a smile of his own. He then frowned and nodded ahead of them towards a tent that looked a little smaller and shabbier than the other tents that were set up. "Is that one yours?"

"Guess so!" He must have been making a face because she continued, "Don't curl up your nose so much, long legs. It's a sight better than anything I've had before. And you'll ruin your pretty face."

Alistair turned to stare down at her at the 'pretty' comment then figured she was just referring back to their conversation, not making an actual observation. As far as he knew, dwarves didn't have much of an attraction to humans. Shaking the thoughts away, he waited until she had carefully made her way into the tent then crouched down outside, peering inside to see what she wanted to do with the things he was carrying.

As he did so, he heard footsteps coming up from behind him and turned to look up at the Commander of the Grey himself. "Ser," he began awkwardly, wondering how exactly to explain what he was doing in camp.

Duncan – Maker, Cailan had said his name _was_ Duncan, hadn't he – merely arched an eyebrow and Alistair suddenly didn't have to say anything as Natia poked her head back out of the tent. "Hey, boss!" she chirped as she saw the dark man standing there. "Alistair here was just giving me a hand with the stuff old Jarriad had me get. Ought to give him a commendation or whatever you long legs do. Nobody else helped me when I yelled at them."

Alistair was oddly hurt that she was calling humans 'long legs' in general. It had seemed like a strangely endearing nickname coming from her.

"I see," intoned Duncan, his eyes trailing back to Alistair and considering him for a long moment. He then smiled and said, "I'm afraid since Alistair isn't a member of the army he can't get a commendation. However, I do thank you for aiding one of my Wardens."

Shrugging slightly, Alistair said, "It's no problem," as he handed the gear he'd been carrying over to Natia. As she ducked back into the tent, he stood up and grinned sheepishly. "I'm always willing to help people if they need something. You can just ask anybody in Hig -" He trailed off as, like a kick to the gut, he realized there might not be anyone left alive in Highever that could be asked.

There seemed to be sympathy in the Warden Commander's eyes as he said, "I heard what happened in Highever. My condolences."

"Aedan needs them more," insisted Alistair. "He lost his whole family practically."

Duncan arched his eyebrows at that. "I was under the impression you had been at Highever since you were young?"

Blinking, he nodded. "Since I was twelve. Minus..." Maker, he _still_ got choked up remembering those few months he'd been back in Denerim. "I was in Denerim before Father died. Cailan sent me back to Highever to finish my fostering under the Teryn and I kind of ending up staying on as Fergus' squire."

_Mostly because it was always too dangerous to come back home_, he thought bitterly to himself. Oh, he understood the _reasoning_ well enough as he'd had the same lessons in politics as his brother. As Cailan had said once about something he couldn't even recall, though, there wasn't anything in the rules that said he had to _like_ that reasoning.

"Then my condolences still stand," intoned Duncan seriously. He then leaned down and asked in the direction of the tent, "Did the quartermaster supply you with new daggers, Natia?"

"Oh, yeah, boss!" came the dwarf's voice from behind the shabby cloth. "He gave me a pair of nice shiny ones but I sold one back to him this morning. Took a wicked looking one off one of those darkspawn we were fighting."

Alistair blinked at her words and frowned. She had been out fighting darkspawn? He guessed it could have been a straggler but he was a little confused because Cailan had told him most of their scouts reported few darkspawn still in the area. Looking at Duncan, he commented as much and the man frowned as he straightened.

"The reports the King was given yesterday were true but I fear similar reports today will bear different news. On that note, I must continue on and give my Wardens their orders."

Natia suddenly reappeared from within the tent, her slightly battered and shabby leathers from earlier replaced with newer ones with the blue and white Warden tabard belted over the top. Resting a hand on what was obviously the dagger she'd taken from the darkspawn judging by it's bare blade thrust through her belt, she asked, "I got orders, boss?"

Smiling, Duncan answered, "Given that you are the newest of the Order, I will be consulting with Jarriad as to where to place you. He'll find you later to inform you of our decision. Until then..." Looking at Alistair, he asked, "Perhaps until then our young friend here would not mind some company?"

"Me?" said Alistair, surprised. He then shook himself, remembering his manners, and turned to Natia, bowing slightly as he said, "M'lady Warden, I would be honored to have your company for the day."

Whistling, the dwarf exclaimed, "Royal blood and fancy manners to boot!" She then laughed and tipped two fingers at him in a rough salute. "Not got many manners myself, long legs, but I'll accept."

Smiling, Alistair turned to look at Duncan only to find that the man had disappeared, leaving the two of them alone. Looking back at Natia, he began, "So..."

She just grinned up at him and echoed, "So?"

With a shake of his head, Alistair turned and headed back up the hill towards his brother's tent, calling over his shoulder, "How about I give you an introduction to a decent noble?"

"Why not?" answered Natia as she caught up to him. As he forced himself to take shorter strides so she could keep up, he felt himself blushing as she added, "Though I don't think any nobles are gonna beat you for decency, Alistair."

"My brother might surprise you," he answered with a smile.

The dwarf just flashed him that chip-toothed grin and said, "I'll trust you on that one. But one thing I've learned in my life is that nobility doesn't necessarily mean blood."

Alistair blinked a little then nodded, smiling down at her as he thought of the likes of Arl Howe, Vaughan, and Habren who were some of the worst examples of the nobility and then those like his brother, the Couslands, and Teagan who were some of the best. The Couslands, of course, led him to the people of Highever, who were almost all like their Teryn and Teryna; good, kind people, most without a drop of so-called noble blood. And, for the first time since escaping from that nightmare, he didn't shudder at his own memories.

He then looked at her again, seeing her in that same light, and said, "Too right."


	19. Promises, 9:30 Dragon – Cailan

"I'm not budging on this, Alistair," growled Cailan, not even looking up from the table in the ancient open hall that had become their meeting area to discuss strategy. As he shoved a new set of pins into the map of the area to represent the latest reports from his scouts of darkspawn movements, he heard his younger brother growl angrily. Looking up now, he met angry hazel eyes with his own blue, trying to project calm when he was anything but. "You're leaving tomorrow with the rest of the non-essentials. You and Aedan both."

"No!" snapped Alistair. "I won't do it because it's _stupid_ and you need two more swords."

"Two more swords?" repeated Cailan. "Aedan can't even keep it together long enough to _speak_ most times." The boy was well and truly shattered by what had happened to his family and really Cailan couldn't blame him. After Father had died...he hadn't been at his best himself. "He _cannot_ fight. And if he is leaving, he needs someone he trusts with him."

The features so like his own twisted into a mask of fury and Alistair stormed forward, slamming his hands down onto the stone table before he leaned forward into Cailan's face. "Don't you do that!" he snarled, his voice dark with fury. "Don't you try and push me away by guilting me into taking care of Aedan!"

His little brother's entire body shook then and he slumped into the table, all of the fury suddenly gone. "Please, Cailan," he breathed. "I can't...I can't lose you too. Don't send me away. If...if you die and I'm not there..."

"Alistair."

Cailan leaned across the table and lifted his brother's chin so their eyes could meet. "There are more things for me to consider," he said slowly, "than just us. Have you even thought that I _do_ want you by my side? That I've hated the fact that we've been apart for five years except for seeing each other during holidays?"

Letting his hand drop away, he continued, "But I have to think _beyond myself_, brother. I have to think of this army and I have to think of _Ferelden_."

"Don't," whispered Alistair.

Cailan shook his head sadly. "I've already spoken to Anora about the possibility of me dying here. She..." He took a deep breath before he continued because Father had made him promise once that he would always keep Alistair free of politics, able to be his own man, and his backup plans would not make that possible. "She agreed to support your claim to the throne and to help see you recognized by the Landsmeet."

Alistair made a choking noise as he pushed himself back from the table suddenly, eyes wide with sudden fear. "Father..."

"I know what Father told you. He made me promise to keep you free of all of this, to let you be your own man the way neither of us ever were. But...you're a Theirin, Alistair. You're a _prince_, no matter what anyone has ever said." Cailan closed his eyes as he added, "And duty sometimes means giving up everything we wanted."

The words were Loghain's, spoken to a very young Cailan when he'd been railing against his arranged marriage with Anora. And the pain in the older man's eyes had told him all too well that he knew the words were a terrible truth.

Silence hung heavily in the open hall for a moment then Cailan dared look up and saw Alistair had sunk down onto his heels with his head in his hands, his entire body shaking. Moving around the table, he fell to one knee in front of his little brother and pulled him into a hug. Alistair clung tightly, making him recall the day he'd left Denerim for Redcliffe, when a seven year-old Alistair with tears streaming down his cheeks had had to be dragged away from him by Father.

"I'm sorry, little brother," he breathed. "I tried. _I tried._"

_Perhaps it was took much to put on him after Highever. But it couldn't wait. He had to know._

Cailan blinked as Alistair suddenly shifted, both of his younger brother's hands suddenly coming up to grab his shoulders tightly. The look on his face was intense, almost feverish, as he hissed, "Promise me you'll survive."

"Alistair..."

"_Promise!_"

The word was almost a sob, drawn from the very depths of desperation. And there wasn't anything Cailan could do but bow his head as he breathed, "I promise you, little brother, I'll do my best. That's all I can give." It was essentially the same promise he'd given Anora, the _only_ promise he could give either of them in the face of the unknown.

The hands clutching his shoulders shook then Alistair's arms were around him again and Cailan hugged him just as tightly. They stayed like that for a long moment then slowly stood, Cailan rising first and pulled Alistair up after him.

Hazel eyes met his for a brief moment, fear and betrayal clear in them, then Alistair turned and walked away, leaving Cailan standing alone in the middle of the open hall. Bowing his head, the King returned to the table but was unable to focus clearly on the plans and maps laid out through the sudden tears clouding his eyes.

After a few moments he gave up and dragged one of the camp chairs out from under the table, sinking heavily into it and burying his face in his hands.

"I'm sorry, Alistair," Cailan whispered even though there was no longer anyone to hear the words. "I hope one day you'll be able to forgive me."


End file.
